


Ursa Major

by korik



Series: A Dissertation in Memories [11]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Brainwashing, Wrote this on an iphone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other half of his nickname.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ursa Major

She watches him writhe under the dimmest of lights in the sunken room, lips curling with the sharp edges of words he knows only by instinct - she reads them with cold practice and familiarity -  _no, stop, hurts_ \- his hands convulsing for invisible throats, freeing weapons to stop the pain even his own mind cannot fathom. The sweat makes him look plastic-like, a doll, a creation, marred by the lines his lips gouge into his cheeks.

She should not linger, her body taut and muscles curled for the action, but she does not leave the Soldier's bedside. He had asked her to tie him up, to take off his arm and make him incapable, unable to hurt anyone else. She knew better than to play with the already fighting mind, refused to dangle meat in front of a starving man-child.

She gags for air as the mechanical clicking of the man's arm pulses around her throat. The cut off of blood is perfect, the Soldier, the Asset, is perfect, but the man moans a terrible sound at her, feverish eyes unseeing. He dreams still and only sees fire. She remembers that burning, but to couple it with his cold? It is a wonder he never shattered from the extremes clashing.

Schooling her body, she ignores the pain, the obvious answer, a limp thing in his grip as he slithers from the sheets, naked muscle cutting harsh lines into its casing of flesh.

Don't run, don't scream.

She can handle the bruises, squirm from his grasp, but he doesn't see her. Natasha never saw them either.

Russian bleeds from her mouth. <"You're safe. You're safe."> 

The crane of his head is good. He  _chooses_ to listen between his superheated breathing.

The assassin, the spy, she can only be human now, spots in her vision. <"You're not alone, safe, safe..">

The cord is cut, he is a lifeless marionette collapsed to the floor. " _Nat...Natalia - "_

He holds her, voice a broken record, hating he is stuck in his skin, hating he cannot unstick her throat as she hides the worst from him.

A crooked smile only madmen share crosses her pale face. "I know the feeling."


End file.
